


Once I Wanted To Be the Greatest

by ChemFishee



Series: and if you don't know now you know [2]
Category: Generation Kill
Genre: 2010 Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 21:59:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChemFishee/pseuds/ChemFishee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Nate Fick of the past would neither know nor understand the Nate Fick of the present.<br/>(April 2010)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once I Wanted To Be the Greatest

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Cat Power's "The Greatest."
> 
> (Comment!Fic originally posted [here.](http://chemfishee.livejournal.com/168951.html?thread=1959927#t1959927))

Nate isn’t naïve, at least not like he was when he first decided to join the Marines. He’s not a restless privileged kid looking to enact a modern-day _On The Road_ anymore. He knows who he is: _Nate Fick_. He knows what he wants: _A family of his own_. He knows what his life is about: _Brad and providing for the little people now dependent on him_.  
  
Still, it’s more than a little disconcerting to realize how unprepared for this he really and truly is. Gunny would be – no, definitely _is_ \- disappointed in him.  
  
Nate rubs the twitching muscle between his eyebrows. He’s bitten the cuticle on his left thumb until it bleeds. His eyes itch. He doesn’t think he can stand at parade rest anymore, his shoulders are so curled into himself with tension.  
  
He’s at his wits end.

 

 

-

 

 

 

They fight that night.   
  
Later, Nate won’t be able to figure out what starts it. It happens. And lately, it’s been happening a lot.  
  
Brad slices portabellas for in the marsala wine sauce. He picked up fresh wild mushroom- and shrimp-stuffed ravioli from the gourmet grocery store he usually avoids like the plague.  
  
Nate watches him work, dumping most of the mushrooms into the bubbling sauce and throwing the rest into the tossed salad sitting on the counter.  
  
Sophie is rocking in her swing and gurgling happily. Nate knows that won’t last.  
  
She’s teething.  
  
Nate pulls another beer out of the fridge. “Need any help?”  
  
Brad doesn’t answer. After two minutes, Nate shrugs and heads to the living room.  
  
Dinner is ready twenty minutes later.

 

 

-

 

 

 

Sophie is screaming. Nothing, absolutely _nothing_ , that Nate does works.   
  
He holds her over his heart.  
  
He puts her back in the swing.  
  
He sings a Barney song.  
  
He bounces her on his knee. She looks at him through wet eyelashes, temporarily not howling. Nate stops and stares. “That worked?”  
  
Sophie hiccups and looses another cry. There’s snot running along her top lip.  
  
Brad presses a popsicle into his hand. “Here. This usually does the trick.” He retreats back to scrolling through their DVR.  
  
Nate runs the orange pop over Sophie’s gums. It works.

 

 

-

 

 

 

The Nate Fick of the past would neither know nor understand the Nate Fick of the present.

 

 

-

 

 

 

Nate is fucking up this whole parenting thing. He is assured of this.

 

 

-

 

 

 

Nate can hear Brad brushing his teeth through the open bathroom door. There’s a quick burst of water and then the distinct tap of Brad’s brush on the sink rim.  
  
Nate turns the page of the latest Harry Bosch thriller. It’s taking all of his focus to remember who is who in the mélange of characters. There’s no way in hell he could try to tackle _The Road_ , even though he knows it’s only about a father and his son.  
  
Brad flips the light switch in the bathroom. He leans on the doorjamb, his sleep pants nestled an inch below his belly button. His face is in shadow.  
  
Nate slides his bookmark into place. He doesn’t lift his eyes from his lap. “I don’t think I was wrong, but I’m sorry.”  
  
Brad nods. 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Nate thought it would be easy.  
  
It’s not. Not even close.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

The baby monitor crackles around 2am with a distinctive wail.  
  
Nate throws back the covers, but Brad squeezes his hip. “Got her.” He grabs the monitor off his nightstand and slips out into the hallway.

 

 

-

 

 

 

He finds them in the study. Brad paces in front of the large picture window. There’s light pollution leaking through the sheer curtains, catching on the planes of Brad’s back. His pants have slid lower on his hips.  
  
His head is bent to the left and he’s murmuring something low enough that Nate can’t hear him from the hallway. He steps into the room, leaning against the wall.  
  
Brad turns at the edge of the window. His lips are moving against the peach fuzz on Sophie’s head. “It doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not. We’ve got each other, babe, and that’s a lot.” He runs his hand up her back and cups the back of her head. Sophie snuffles further into his chest. “Oh, they’re halfway there.”  
  
Nate steps closer. “Oh, living on a prayer,” they sing in the closest thing to harmony between them. “Take my hand. We’ll make it, I swear.”  
  
Sophie’s eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks. She’s breathing through her nose softly.  
  
“Didn’t mean to wake you up.”  
  
“You didn’t.” Nate presses a palm against their daughter’s back. “She okay?”  
  
“Gave her some ice cubes to gum on. She may have dribbled them all over me.”  
  
Nate rubs a slow circle on Sophie’s back. “And then Bon Jovi?”  
  
“You doubt the power of Jon and Richie?”  
  
“No.” Nate smiles against the corner of Brad’s mouth. He can feel Sophie’s heartbeat in his shoulder. “But I think you missed a line in the song.”

 

 

-

 

 

 

Brad sets the monitor back on his nightstand. The sheets have cooled.  
  
Nate turns his pillow over. Brad curls around his back. His foot rubs over Nate’s as he tries to tuck his knees up. He drops a kiss on Nate’s shoulder blade.  
  
“Next time, I’ll get up.”  
  
Brad smiles into his skin. “No you won’t.”  
  
“I really hope this teething shit is over soon.”  
  
Brad _hmmm_ s his agreement.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 


End file.
